


Limerence

by innerglow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Snowed In, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerglow/pseuds/innerglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Limerence</b> <i>(noun)</i>: The state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limerence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milchtee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milchtee/gifts).



> This is for the wonderful [Casterelle](http://casterelle.tumblr.com) on tumblr, as part of the [Wincest Secret Santa](http://wincestbigbang.tumblr.com). I hope your Christmas was merry and that your New Year is just as bright! <3

Life is hard when you’re seventeen and Dean Winchester is your older Brother.  Harder still, when your name is Sam Winchester and you wake up one morning and feel the deepest parts of yourself, crave the most hidden parts of him.  

And for the last five years, Sam has woke up this way and gone to bed every single night praying for some higher power to mend his foolish heart.  The one that keeps him up at all hours of the night, just staring at the backs of his hands.   Spending endless minutes just imagining how it would feel to touch those secret places, splaying his fingers over his own face and pretending it’s the aching freckled cheekbones of his Brother.  He licks, to suck, to nip at his wrists and he thinks about the sharpness of Dean’s hipbones.  And when he touches himself  _ there _ , he wonders how heavy Dean would feel in his hands, wonders if he’d be as wet as Sam gets just thinking about how wet he’d be.    

It’s a constant state of what-ifs and hows and whys.   And thanks to their dad, they’re stuck in up in the high Sierra’s, snowed in and cooped up with nothing to do, but be together.  It doesn’t sound terrible in theory, but for Sam it’s excruciating, having to wait out every single minute that passes--pretending that he isn’t perpetually stuck in this constant loop of wanting, and waiting, and needing, but never being able to admit it out loud.  And even when his mouth opens, his cheeks aching around the need to tell Dean everything that his heart needs, he shuts his mouth.  When his brain questions what stops him--because, because, because--his heart pounds, around the thousands of reasons why Dean would never look at him in the same ways.  

So when Dean puts a hand on Sam’s back, his warm and calloused fingers, burn holes right through Sam’s shirt and Sam’s so lost in the feeling--it’s no wonder why Dean has to repeat himself twice.  

“Ya hear me?” Dean’s voice sounds and Sam’s eyes blink as his ears sing with Dean’s noise.   

“Uh, what?” Sam’s tongue dislodges from his throat, his heart a trembling mess in his chest.  

“I found a pond not too far away from here and there’s some skates in the the closet, you wanna?” Dean removes his hand, his body moving for the closet, everything in him already prepared for Sam’s automatic ‘yes’.  

And truth be told, this is just another reason why Sam loves his Brother, because he knows him so well.  Knows he’s going nuts being cooped up, knows he’s getting stir crazy.  It’s just like Dean to know all of Sam’s tells, all of his needs--well,  _ except  _ one.  

Sam tosses the book he’d been reading, onto the couch next to him and finds himself up and following Dean (he’s always following).  They both bundle up and are out of the cabin in record seconds and it makes Sam think that maybe Dean was starting to get a little crazy himself.  Maybe he needs this adventure, just as much as Sam.  

They both trek through the woods a few paces away from the cabin, till the small pond comes to view in a clearing.  It’s not big by any means, just big enough for them and well, that’s all that matters--or so Sam thinks.  And then he finds himself calculating all the ways he can bump into Dean accidentally, thinks about all the places he can touch and feel and warm his hands on.   What a dream, he thinks and then he thanks those beautiful stars he’s always wishing on.   Because maybe it’s not exactly what he wants, but it’ll be something at least.

Dean gets on the ice first, his body sure of it’s movements and his legs gliding effortlessly on the ice.  You’d think he skates all the time with how easy he makes it look, but that’s just Dean.  He makes everything look easy, there’s a confidence in him that shines like the sun and even if he was bad at something, you’d be too blind from staring at him--to ever truly notice otherwise.   And Sam’s ribs hum around his broken record of a heart, because god does he love this about Dean.  

Sam on the other hand, is awkward and his legs are getting too long and they sweep out from below him just seconds after his feet hit the ice.   His body crashes onto the ice and it knocks the air from his lungs and all he can focus on, is Dean’s laugh.   It’s beautiful, Sam thinks as his lungs wheeze on air that escapes him.   It’s so beautiful, and he’d fall a million times more--just to hear it, because he doesn’t hear it enough.   

“Gotta take it slow, Sammy.”  Dean is there suddenly, his hand reaching down and Sam thinks he’s going to float away at the image of Dean above him.   

Dean and his freckled cheeks, rosy with the chill of the air.  Dean and his leaf green eyes and his ripe for the kissing lips and then there’s his smile and god, Sam wants to build a home there.  Wants to feel the warmth of that sun, shine down on him for the rest of his life.  

Sam reaches up and takes hold of Dean’s hand, every organ inside of his body coming alive.   Dean’s sturdy fingers, clasped around his own--pulling him up, pulling him so close… that if Sam fell, he’d fall right into Dean’s embrace.  And Sam would die there, in Dean’s arms, a happy smile of his own etched across his lips.  

“Thanks.” Sam whispers quietly, a blush creeping upon his own cheeks.  

“Here, let me help you.”  Dean offers, his hand not leaving Sam’s.  

Instead Dean reaches for his other hand,  pulls Sam further onto the ice, bracing Sam the entire way.  And ain’t it like his Brother, to be patient with him--patient in ways he’d never be with anyone else.  Giving Sam all the time in the world to get it right, showing him the ropes, until Sam can manage on his own.   And Sam knows he’s lucky, because even if he doesn’t have a lot--at least he has Dean.    

Wonderful,  _ beautiful _ \--Dean.  

After a few minutes, Sam’s legs start to comply with the weight of him and the glide of the ice beneath him.   And the minute he gets it right, Dean lets go and Sam’s knees wobble with the grief of missing Dean’s warmth.   Sam curses his heart, tells it to shut up, tells it that it can’t have what it wants.  But it just beats louder, till it’s racing in his ears, his palms, and cheeks.  

Dean’s telling him something about what their Dad had said earlier on the phone.   And Sam tries to focus on the words, tries his best to string them together in a way that makes sense.  But the more he tries, the more they evade him.  After all, Sam doesn’t really care about what dad said on the phone, couldn’t care less how many more days he’ll be or how many times he’ll have to eat top ramen.  All he cares about, is the way Dean and him have found themselves circling each other on the ice.  

It starts lazy at first, just the two of them going ‘round and ‘round, Dean leading and Sam following close behind.  It starts to become effortless, their bodies adjusting to the push and pull of their legs as they propel both of them forward.   But there’s something in Sam’s stomach that makes him hungry, makes him daring.  And before he can swallow it down and hide it away, it gets away from him.  

Sam gives chase to Dean and Dean’s eyes brighten at the silent egg on.   He turns around and quickens his pace around the pond.  

“Think you can catch me, Sammy?”  

And Sam answers with the click--click of his skates speeding up behind Dean.  

They spend ten minutes or so, chasing each other back and forth.  Neither of them catching the other, except for a touch of the hand or the hood of their jackets.  And every time Sam thinks he’s got Dean, he slips out of his fingers.  Happens again and again.  

But then Dean trips over a knick in the ice, his body falling forward onto the ice and Sam tries to stop, he swears he does--but he finds himself losing his own balance, trying to avoid Dean.   And it happens fast, so fast, that when Sam finds himself lying half on and half off of his Brother, their chests aligned and their eyes catching--Sam stops breathing.  

Time freezes and Dean just looks up at him, his bright, starlit eyes just reaching into Sam’s and Sam feels like he’s losing his grip on reality when Dean’s hand finds itself on the back of his neck.   His fingers are cold in contrast to the burn of Sam’s skin and Sam finds his own fingers on the pillows of Dean’s mouth.   And when Dean’s lips part, the heat of his breath carding against Sam’s skin, he feels all engines at the southern parts of him, churn awake.

“Sammy…” Dean whispers and it sounds like a confession, sounds like the confession that still hangs in the back of Sam’s own throat.  

Can it be, Sam thinks.  Can Dean actually look at him in that way?  Was it there the entire time, has Dean always been as in love as him?

“Dean..” Sam answers back, his confession loud and real, hanging outside of himself for the first time in his life.  

It has Sam seeing stars, has his fingers curling around Dean’s jaw as he leans down to claim the only thing he’s ever wanted and needed.   His own lips are unpracticed and clumsy, but they align themselves against Dean’s thrones and he burns his declaration there.  Writes with his tongue, about the millions of ways that only he could ever love Dean.   And he’s so lost in the madness of his own heart, that when Dean’s lips reach back against his own aching ones, he can’t help the goddamned breathy moan that leaves his mouth.  

Dean pushes Sam up and over, rolls his body so he’s on top, so the stiffness in his jeans collides perfectly against Sam’s.   He grinds there, his hips digging against Sam’s in a way that tells Sam, Dean has thought about this plenty of nights as well.   But Sam doesn’t get to think about it much more than that, because Dean starts to bruisingly nip at his lips.  Kissing Sam so hard, so deep, that Sam can almost convince himself he’s entering Dean’s body and god, what a dream, what a goddamned beautiful fucking dream.  

And when Dean is done with Sam’s mouth, he arches Sam’s head back and lays claim to his throat, to the top of his collar bone.   His hips and body keeping a rhythm that makes the friction between them, intoxicating.   

Sam arches his back, trying desperately to deepen the feel of Dean against him, trying to drown in the feeling of his Brother so hard against him.  Tells himself that if the ice broke open and swallowed them both down, he’d die with a goddamn smile on his face.  But the thought doesn’t get much time to marinate because one of Dean’s hands find themselves under the back of Sam’s waistband.  Rough fingers grab at the flesh of Sam’s ass, pulling him closer--so close, the heat between them a fire burning alive in both of their stomachs.  

“God,” Dean huffs in Sam’s ear, a lick of his tongue there and the heat of his breath panting against Sam’s flesh.  “So fucking beautiful, so damn beautiful--always been so--”

“Dean…” Sam feels himself aching to release, feels himself stutter around the exploding sensation of his dick and every time Dean’s humps against it.  “I’m gonna--gonna…”

“Yesss, Sammy, yess--come for me.”  It’s a whisper, a plea, a demand.  

And Sam’s entire body gives out as the world around him whites out and the only sensation is the warming spurts of himself filling his boxers.   He comes hard, harder than he’d ever thought possible, comes so violently--his hands shake as they cling to the strong and sturdy shoulders of his Brother.  

“So good.” Dean praises, his own breath catching in his throat.  

Sam moans as Dean grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls, his hips still grinding and picking up speed and losing rhythm as he sloppily chases his own orgasm.   And then it happens, Dean’s entire body clamoring with the startling way his cock explodes into his own jeans.   He humps lazily, his hips shaking and Sam swears he never wants to be anywhere else, ever again.   He’d give anything to just be here, like this--forever.

Seconds pass, both of them letting their bodies rest, letting the aftershocks course through their veins--while lazily leaving kisses on each other’s mouths.  

Finally Dean breaks the silence.  “Now I know why all them girls like that ice skating movie.”  

“Shut up…” Sam laughs, poking his Brother in the ribs.  

Dean smiles, his chest rumbling with laughter and then he’s up and pulling Sam with.  

And when they’re both standing, Dean cards his fingers through Sam’s and gives a light squeeze.  

“Let’s get back inside and into some clean clothes.”

Sam feels himself fly over the moon, when he looks down and sees that their hands are actually clasped.   How many times had he dreamed of this, how many times had he ached in the middle of the night--just wanting to know what it would feel like?  And now, here they are, his bony fingers laced with Dean’s sturdy ones.  

“C’mon.” Dean turns, their hands a bridge between them.  

Sam smiles as he follows, because he should have always known that their hearts would be just as they’ve always been--two magnets helplessly reaching for each other, _inseparable_. 


End file.
